


Brussels

by littlerhymes



Category: Bandom, The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-27
Updated: 2008-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerhymes/pseuds/littlerhymes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day off in Brussels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brussels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [proteinscollide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/proteinscollide/gifts).



> "One of the greatest days of my life was spent in Brussels, Belgium this past August (the day before we played the Pukkelpop Festival.) The Butcher and I spent the day wandering aimlessly around the streets, in awe of all the utopian city that is Brussels. It was a great bonding experience for the Butcher and I as friends and as the rhythm section of TAI."  
> [Adam T. Siska - December 1, 2007](http://www.friendsorenemies.com/web/foe/journals/siskyonfoe/entry/1398741/)  
> 

 

The Butcher rummages through his bags for the fifth time. "Have you seen my scarf?" he says to Mike.

"Nope," Mike says without looking up from a French-dubbed episode of Buffy.

"Thanks a lot," Butcher says under his breath. He checks his watch and - "Great, now I'm late. Fuck, where's my scarf?"

"Late?" Mike finally looks away from the tv, frowning. "We have a day off, how can you be late?"

"I'm going with Sisky to some comic book museum or something," he says distractedly, looking under the bed. "I don't know."

"Oh, right." Mike gets a smirk on his face that the Butcher doesn't like. "One of your dates."

"Fuck off, Carden," he says and throws a sock at Mike's head. He ducks. "Just because _some_ of us don't like wasting our days off lying around and watching tv," he says pointedly. "And gimme my sock back, I need that."

"It's a date," Mike repeats, looking even more smug than before. Smartass. At least he gives the sock back.

The door opens and Siska walks in, waving a guide book. "Butcher," he says, "we _have_ to see the fountain of the pissing kid. Look!" He jabs at the page excitedly.

"Show me that," the Butcher demands and snatches the book away. "Shit," he says, starting to laugh. "That's awesome."

"Hey, Sisky." Mike taps his chin with one finger in mock thoughtfulness. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that the Butcher's scarf you're wearing?"

"Yeah," Siska says, looking pleased. "It's pretty rad, isn't it?"

Over Siska's shoulder he can see Mike mouthing the word _date_. He ignores it.

So, after the awesomely geeky comic book museum, they go find the famous pissing fountain.

To their disappointment, the Manneken Pis isn't actually that great. "Kinda small, isn't it?" the Butcher says doubtfully.

They look at each other and say, "That's what she said," at exactly the same moment. They crack up. Middle-aged tourists give them disapproving looks.

They queue for five minutes to get their photo taken anyway. "Say cheese!" says the American tourist they've asked to take the photo. They spontaneously strike gangsta rap poses.

"What next, Sisky Biz?" the Butcher says, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

Siska leafs through the guidebook, frowning intently. "Laken Castle..." he mutters, "Royal Museum.. Town Hall... Aha!" He looks up, looking triumphant. "Waffles!"

They could buy waffles from one of the vendors on the street. Instead they spend an hour tracking down one of the cafes that the guidebook promises is a 'hidden treasure' and a 'local gem'.

Of course when they get there it's completely full, every table jammed with British backpackers.

"Shit," Sisky says, his face dropping.

"Aww, don't be sad," the Butcher says, slinging his arm around Sisky's shoulders. "Look over there." He points across the street where a large sign declares -

"Frites!" Sisky says, his face lighting up again.

They split a plate of fries covered with about five different sauces. It looks like cat sick (when he points this out, Siska sighs and says, "I miss Baby and Little Girl") and tastes delicious. Occasionally they reach out at the same time and their fingers brush, which is nice; and towards the end of the plate he looks up and catches Sisky licking his fingers, and that's pretty nice too.

By then the waffle place has emptied out a bit so they cross the street and get a table. The waffle place is actually kinda fancy-pants, with lots of gilt-edged mirrors and antique furniture. They end up at dark little table in a corner, and the Butcher pulls out Sisky's seat without thinking about it.

"Thanks," Siska says, giving him a slightly odd look. He sits down and Butcher pushes the seat in behind him.

"Sure." The Butcher takes his own seat, somewhat uncertainly. _Date_ , his mind whispers traitorously in Carden's voice. _Shut up_ , he hisses back. "Um. No problem."

They are both very relieved when the waiter comes to take their orders.

"Yes," Sisky says half an hour later, around the last bite of waffle. "This is fucking fantastic." He scrapes the plate for the last bits of chocolate sauce and icecream, with only a slight air of desperation.

"Have another one," the Butcher suggests. He's still only half-way through his own. "If you think you can finish it, I mean."

"Yeah?" Sisky looks up with a crafty, considering expression. "Is that a bet?"

"Is it?" the Butcher thinks out loud, tapping his finger against his lip consideringly. "Well... Okay." He nods hard. "Okay, I guess it is. Yeah. It's a bet."

"Waiter," Siska says loudly, waving his hand in the air. All of the waiters ignore him. He puts his hand down and leans across the table to stage-whisper: "What's the bet actually for?"

"For pride," he says straight away. "Glory. Honour."

"For Sparta," Sisky shoots back with an absolutely straight face.

The Butcher cracks up, he can't help it. He throws his napkin across the table and into Sisky's lap. Sisky throws it back. Naturally that's when the waiter arrives.

"Did you see his face?" the Butcher says after the waiter's taken the order. "Dude, you'd better hope they don't spit in your waffle!"

Spit or not, Siska eats the whole thing, though by the end he's forcing down the bites. "For glory," he groans as they leave the cafe, clutching his stomach. "For honour."

He pats Siska's back pityingly. "You idiot," he says fondly.

Siska gives him a sideways glance, looking through his lashes. "But you're impressed, right?" he says, a hopeful edge to his voice. "I mean, that was pretty amazing, don't you think?"

"Yes," the Butcher says soothingly. "It was really, really impressive."

Siska looks pleased.

They wander around for a few more hours, checking out shops and old buildings and beer cafes and all that cool stuff. If anyone had asked, he couldn't have named more than two or three of the places they visited. On the other hand, he's about one hundred and ten per cent sure he could draw Siska's face from memory.

As night falls they end up at another fountain. This one doesn't have any pissing boys but the glitter of coins on the bottom show that people think it's lucky anyway. The Butcher takes a handful of loose change from his pocket and passes half to Siska.

"Look, I can make mine skip," he says, and tries to skim a coin across the water's surface. It promptly sinks. "Damn," he says sadly. Siska doubles over laughing.

They end up just dropping them into the water, like any other tourists would.

"So what did you wish for?" Siska says as they sit on the fountain's edge.

"Ah, I dunno." The Butcher folds his arms, shrugs his shoulders. "It's a secret." He looks down at his feet, embarrassed.

"Guess what I wished for?" Siska elbows him gently, a smile playing around his mouth.

"What?" he says.

"This," Sisky says simply, and leans forward to kiss him on the mouth.


End file.
